Her gypsy heart can’t find its art
In movement, song or rhyme
And though it fakes a smile or two
It’s crying all the time
Instincts state her only fate
Must be to run away
For patient though she is
She may not last another day
In this place, with this face
And all the foolish things it’s done
And all her sodden sorrow
And no single ray of sun.
Mar 10, 2018
Mar 10, 2018 at 5:59 PM UTC
Her gypsy heart can’t find its art
In movement, song or rhyme
And though it fakes a smile or two
It’s crying all the time
Instincts state her only fate
Must be to run away
For patient though she is
She may not last another day
In this place, with this face
And all the foolish things it’s done
And all her sodden sorrow
And no single ray of sun.
I like Fleetwood Mac
